


He Comes At Night

by LeviathanHomeCooking



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, Mind Control, Molestation, Paralysis, Vampire Bites, Vampires, Whump, creepy!jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeviathanHomeCooking/pseuds/LeviathanHomeCooking
Summary: Brock is haunted by a nightly visitor.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	He Comes At Night

**Author's Note:**

> Werewolf!Jack is my true love, but this one just happened to be what I finished first.  
> Check out my[ companion edit on Tumblr](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com/post/611710151077085184) for this piece!
> 
> [ My Tumblr (LeviathanHomeCooking) ](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com)

* * *

He comes at night. 

A spectre lingering outside Brock’s bedroom window. A finger taps against the windowpane, long fingernail scraping the glass, waking Brock from his slumber. A pair of glowing orbs pin him down quite literally, as he is paralyzed under the visitor’s gaze.

At first it seems like a nightmare, Brock’s body trapped between the realm of sleep and consciousness, showing him terrifying visions of subconscious fears. But Brock knows better, which is why his glock is nestled tightly in his right palm.

The old windows creek open, letting in a warm breeze and the hot stench of bog water. The swampland’s nocturnal inhabitants are deafeningly silent tonight. Perhaps hiding from the predator prowling around. The silhouette climbing through his window is big and tall, but booted feet only make the barest of creeks on the floorboards. The man—more like a creature that has appropriated the shape of a man—stalks closer. 

Brock attempts to draw his gun, but his arm is dead-weight. He can't even move his head with some unseen force restraining him. 

“Hmm, what’s this?” The intruder’s hum sounds more like the purr of a lion. He reaches over Brock, gingerly slips the gun out of Brock’s grip. His face splits into a grin, revealing crisp teeth that gleam, and a set of fangs where the canines would typically be. He seems to be very familiar with the weapon considering how comfortably he handles it. The being scoffs, “As if I’d even let you pull the trigger.” He strolls leisurely across the room, setting the weapon down on a dresser far from Brock’s reach. 

The bed dips, and the man is crawling over him. Brock flares his nostrils and glares. The being isn’t intimidated in the slightest. Frigid hands skirt their way up his bare chest, making Brock’s skin pimple and nipples pebble. Fingers pick up the silver cross lying at his sternum. 

“How cute. You think this little thing will protect you from me?” He leans in close, “You think God will save you?” He taunts. 

“ _Oh sweet thing_ …” He coos. 

It makes Brock’s blood boil. He’s the farthest thing from weak. He’s been police for twenty years, can bench press 250 pounds, run five miles without breaking a sweat, and looks like a real life Roman god, yet this... _thing_ overpowers him so easily as if he’s nothing but a feisty poodle.

“Don’t...” Brock rasps out, to his surprise. Normally he isn’t able to talk under the visitor’s influence.

Cool lips place a delicate kiss to Brock’s chest, right over his heart. “Don’t worry, I always take care of what’s mine.” He promises.

“M’not...yours…” Brock hisses. 

The demon laughs all the same, “Oh but you _are!_ You are my _slave._ A quite special one at that.” He combs some hair off Brock’s forehead. He is always gentle when he touches Brock...until he isn’t. 

Cool hands molest him, coasting across warm skin much to the entity’s pleasure. Brock is a feast laid out in nothing but a pair of briefs. The demon enjoys the feel of Brock’s hard abs beneath his fingers. “You’re remarkably fit for your age, and healthy.” Brock sputters at the backhanded compliment. “It makes your blood tastier.” The man purrs. He’s shuffling down Brock’s body, dragging his fangs along over quivering skin that is anxiously awaiting the bite. 

“What are you?” Brock whispers.

“I highly doubt you haven’t figured it out by now. But if it makes you feel better, you can call me Jack.” 

Jack. What an ordinary name for an extraordinary entity.

 _Jack_ fondles his inner thigh, nips it playfully with his fangs but does not break the skin. No doubt he can feel Brock’s anxiously rising pulse, no doubt he does it to _make_ him anxious. A stabbing pain makes Brock jerk. But the sting is quickly replaced by a tingling ecstasy spreading through his veins, making his muscles go loose and his head foggy once again. Brock mirrors Jack’s hot groan of pleasure. 

Red juices flow from the wound, and Jack moans as he licks up the trails, wet and messy and smearing blood everywhere. His mouth seals around the wound and sucks, making Brock tremble. His cock is starting to chub up, much to his horror. This isn’t good, it’s dangerous, Brock’s life is in _danger_ , but whatever venom seems to flow through him convinces his body otherwise. Convinces him he’s under the sensual spell of a paramour and not a deadly predator. 

Jack seems to be thoroughly amused by his reaction, giving his victim’s erection a squeeze. He starts stroking Brock through the fabric of his briefs. “Yeah, you like that, huh?” He murmurs. 

“Fuck...you…!” Brock spits.

“Hmm, I just might.” Jack says. He free’s Brock’s cock from his underwear, palms the pulsing, warm organ. He gives it a long, slow lick from base to tip, smearing the foreskin with blood. He gives Brock’s thigh a bloody kiss. “Maybe another time when I’m not as hungry.” 

Jack crawls back up Brock’s body. “Taste yourself.” He says, slithering his tongue inside Brock’s mouth. Copper and iron overwhelm Brock’s senses, but Jack’s deft tongue massages his, making Brock shiver with involuntary bliss.

He’s warmer now. Is his temperature rising or is Brock’s lowering from being drained?

Jack tilts Brock’s head to luxuriously scent his neck. Brock attempts to push him off, but his arms are far too weak. Jack grips him with bruising force, having run out of patience, and plunges his fangs in deep. Brock lets out a cry that tapers off to a whimper when the teeth tug free. Jack licks up the juices in a frenzy, desperate for every last drop.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re delicious.” Jack growls, wild and thrumming with energy. 

“Asshole…!” Brock is slurring. 

Jack chuckles. “Aren’t you feisty? Big tough guy, but not when you’re underneath me. I could keep you forever. I could make you just like me. Would you like that? Be honest.”

“No...I’m scared.” Brock didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t mean to reveal his weakness, but he’s not in control of himself. He hasn’t been in control for a while.

“It’s okay. It only hurts a little, I promise.” Even in the dark, Brock can see his assailant’s twisted smile.

Brock’s eyes flood with tears. “Please, don’t." This is it, he’s going to die. He can’t move his body, can’t scream, can’t fight. Tears spill over his cheeks. “Shhh, shh, don’t cry.” Jack murmurs comfortingly, wipes away the tears with his thumbs. He just coos all gentle and calming, but Brock only cries harder.

It’s getting harder to breathe, his body feels far away, and the room is starting to spin. He can’t lose consciousness! He may never wake up!

Jack is moving off of him, and heavy footsteps fade away. He’s leaving Brock to die! Brock struggles to stay awake, to _breathe_. He’s cold and light-headed. He can’t see. Are his eyes even open?

Something presses against his lips, something round and cool with a familiar smell. It’s awfully similar to the grapes that were sitting in his fridge. Brock refuses to open his mouth, food is the last thing he wants, and he’s certain he would just regurgitate it in his terror.

“Eat.” Jack commands.

Brock is confused, but opens his mouth mechanically for the grape. He chews it, but it doesn’t go down his throat without a fight. When he swallows, another one is being pressed to his lips, and then another after that. The fruit is a relief to his lethargic body and depleted cells. Brock is given a reprieve after the grapes run out. His gut is unsettled, but his head is clearer. Brock takes a few shuddering breaths to calm himself down. A now warm hand curls around his throat with feather-light pressure, which makes him tense up again.

“You will rest. And then, in the morning, you’ll make yourself a healthy breakfast and drink plenty of water.” He plants a chaste kiss to unresponsive lips, and his mouth quirks up into a devious grin. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my[ companion edit on Tumblr](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com/post/611710151077085184) for this piece!  
> [ My Tumblr (LeviathanHomeCooking) ](https://leviathanhomecooking.tumblr.com)


End file.
